Summer cold
by QueenWolf12
Summary: England is getting into t he swing of having a toddler around but what happens when Alfred gets sick? Can England handle it? Better than it sounds. Please R


**Alright this is my second Hetalia fic. ^_^ Guess l be getting into this section of fanfiction huh! Does anyone want me to do more Arthur and Baby Alfred stuff? Cause I really don't mind**

**Thanks Sam! Your DA photo is goign to kill me. **

**I do not own Hetalia! Sam would killme if I did and never told her. **

A shaking noise woke Arthur (you know, England?) out of his sound sleep. He looked around to see the cause, only to look out the window. "It's raining," he muttered and then hit the bed tiredly. He was so very tired and worn out.

"Why am I so tried?" England wondered. Then he remembered. "America."

Arthur had spent all day running after the toddler. Everyday he did this. He'd have Alfred in one spot on the floor playing safely and calmly, just giggling while he cooked them both lunch. But the moment he turned around, Alfred would be gone. On top of a bookshelf is where the Englishman would find him. He'd slip off and be caught just as he almost hit the ground. England would be panting while Alfred would be giggling, thinking the look on his big brother's face was funny.

Then right as Arthur would have the books put up he'd find that America had vanished yet again. After spending hours looking for the young child, Arthur would find him outside playing in the rain making mud pies. And that is just what had happened today.

England had fed the boy after that and tried to give him a bath. Bath time was a nightmare. Alfred hated baths more than anything in the world. He'd struggle like he was about to die. He'd scream bloody murder but he always wound up in that tub of suds and water, pouting with his bottom lip sticking out and his arms crossed.

Then it was bedtime. Oh God, how Alfred hated to go to bed. He'd hear England tell him to get into his PJ's. He'd do that but once he heard the word "bedtime" he'd start to run around the house, hiding. As if hiding behind the bloody sofa would help, since he hide there every night.

But then once Arthur had the toddler in bed, he'd be asked over and over again for a song, or a glass of water, or to go to the bathroom, or to check for monsters, or, for the love of all that was holy, another freaking story!

Just thinking about it made Arthur sleepy. He decided it was better to just go back to sleep. But just as he turned over "England!" a little voice quivered.

Arthur fell out of the bed screaming. "Alfred, what the hel-heck are you doing in here?"

America sat up in bed and blinked. "I've been in here."

"For how long?"

"For a little bit. You were looking out the window and I got in bed with you," the young boy explained, playing with his thumbs.  
Pausing for a moment, England told Alfred it was alright. Alfred smiled and cuddled up under the covers. This suprised England. Normally America would be jumping up and down and be happy as a lark. But not tonight. He had just crawled under the covers and fallen asleep.

England didn't mind this, so he just got right under the covers as well and dozed off. Or tried to. He kept being woken to the sound of Alfred moaning and groaning in his sleep. The first few times Arthur was annoyed, but after a while he began to worry for the tot. He'd shake his brother lightly to hush the groans, but it only bought him a few seconds.

"Alfred, are you alright?" Arthur asked once he woke his younger brother up.

Alfred open his eyes slowly. "Errr...England!" he wined loudly.

"What is it, Alfred? I'm right here."

"My tummy hurts." The boy grabbed his sore stomach and grimaced. He really didn't feel well.

Not knowing what to do, England started biting his nails. He never had to deal with a sick child before. Hell, America never got sick. What was he going to do?

"Alright, how bad does it hurt?" he asked.

"Bad. I don't feel well!" Alfred cried.

Arthur rubbed the area between his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with a sick child, or have a crying one for that matter. "Why are you doing that!" Arthur screeched.

Seeing how annoyed his brother looked only made America feel worse. " 'Cause it just- _WAAWAAAA!_"

Sweatdropping, Arthur picked the crying child up and started to walk back and forth, doing a bouncing motion with the him.

Alfred, whose stomach still hurt, was just crying into England's chest.

Placing his hand on the boy's back allowed Arthur to feel the heat of the fever. "He's burning up."

With that, the Englishman brought the sick boy to the bathroom. "Stop crying, Alfred," Iggy said, digging threw the medicine cabinet. "I'm looking for something for you."

America stopped crying as he was told and watched England dig through the cabinet. "Iggy, I feel like I"m gonna-"

"America, hold on! Oh yes!" With that Arthur poured this purple liquid on a spoon and shoved it into his little brother's mouth. Then, holding his hand over the mouth of the toddler, he made him swallow.

"Now, doesn't that feel better?"

"Iggy, I'm gonna-" But before he could finish, the boy had already vomited all over Arthur.

England stood there shaking in what was left of his stew. He was mad and worried at the same time. Worried for Alfred and mad that his stew still looked the same three or four hours after digestion.

America just covered his little mouth and waited. Waited to see if he'd get yelled at or if he'd be forced medication, or what. But instead of all that, Iggy picked up Alfred by the arms and carried him to his bed where he laid him down and tucked him in.

America could hear Iggy washing himself off and see him toss the dirty shirt to the floor. After some time, he was given the purple stuff once more. Then Iggy got into bed with him and laid there.

"England...are you mad?"

"No, I'm not mad, but you have to go to sleep now." But as soon as Arthur opened his eyes, he saw Al was fast asleep. England smiled and rolled over. He didn't like him being sick, but he was doing his best. Besides, he had a feeling that he would get the hang of this parenting thing soon enough.

...

"Iggy?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it a bad thing when you throw up and it tastes better that way? 'Cause your stew tasted better that way."

England sweatdropped. "Go to bed, Alfred."

- 


End file.
